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05: Holy Crap
On phone again. on a half full bus to Woods Hole. Lot to tell, probably kind of random. Just gonna write to calm myself.
Boston is burning, in spite of the rain. Holy crap. I guess all the major cities are. Like a bad dream.
Obama looked like he’s aged at lest 5 years since lady week. But he actually ussd the word “zombie.” He was quick to point out that the victims are NOT animated corpses and urged the news media to stop using the word. Yeah, good luck on that one. Has he MET the media? Speaking of that–
But you probably know all this. He was on every channel including satellite. If you’re able to get tv or radio you heard him whether you wanted to or not. Whatever it is–i guess I’ll have to just use the word zombie–it has spread to Europe, Asia, Australia, South and Central America, Africa . . . even Antarctica! They said all contact with the science stations down there has been cut off since last night. Russia and China aren’t talking, either, and half the middle east wants to bomb the other half. There’s rioting in every city. No one knows how many people are affected. Estimates range from ten to thirty percent. That’s an awful lot of people.
Martial law. No one allowed out. No unauthorized vehicular traffic. Military and National Guard authorized to shoot to kill. God. When I think of all the times I’ve joked with friends over who we’d want with us during a zombie apocalypse. It’s not so funny now. I have no skills. Well, other than writing. But I don’t think a well-crafted sentence is going to save me from a zombie.
CDC still doesn’t have a goddamned clue what’s going on. That’s not what Obama said in a many words, but it’ll do. Whatever silence the media was operating under is over. Now we can’t shut then up. There are roughly the same number of explanations flying astounds as there are experts to express them. I think every news chanel has interviewed the same few scientists 20 times. The answer is still, “We’re studying the data . . . it’s too early yet to tell . . .” Meanwhile, there are a lot of unfamiliar faces on the network news. Where are the others? Are they zombies?
No one has told exactly what the symptoms are, for want of a better word. I’m guessing it’s not brain eating. But apparently people get really strong and uncontrollable. That’s all we know.
Official-looking types handed out surgical masks at the airport after the press conference. Must be airborne, whatever it is. All the military-looking guys–and there are a LOT–are in full gas masks. Heh. One of my friends just bought one of those for . . . other purposes. I’ll bet he’s laughing, now.
The military originally tried to take us to a local shelter, but Boston is total fucking chaos. Everywhere is. What hotels aren’t burning or overrun are already full. They eventually divided us into groups based on where were already headed. That’s how I’m on a bus to Woods Hole. Late, but at least underway. Roads are eerily empty, but we’re creeping along. Lot of wrecks. Fires. Abandoned cars.
Unauthorized vehicles wil be fired upon. Trying to con taint the outbreak. I think it’s too late for that, myself.
There were a few scary minutes near Logan when it looked like we were being attacked by zombies. But it was rioters. The military fired tear gas and they dispersed. But not before they rushed the bus, trying to get on. That was . . . intense.
Right now, everyone on the bus is talking, quietly. Theories include government conspiracies, mad scientists run amok, aliens, biological warfare, mass hallucinations, God punishing sinners, the apocalypse . . . you name it. One kinda crazy-acting guy with a neck tattoo thinks we’re all in the Matrix, like in the movie. And none of this is real. We’re all giving him a wide berth.
The president said to stay calm and stay indoors. The national guard has been activated with orders to shoot to kill. You don’t have to tell me twice. I just wish I was at home.
There’s a few armed men aboard the bus. National guard or army, I have no idea–I’m not an export in uniforms. The bus is humming with quiet conversations. Everyone lewis trying to call home, but the circuits are busy. Luckily data is stil mostly working, if slowly.
We should be at Woods Hole by 6:30. After dark. More guards there to escort us in smaller groups. There are supposedly still places where the whatever-it-is hasn’t spread. I’m hoping islands are among them. Of course, what if one of us is carrying it? No. I won’t even think it.
I wonder if any of the other Viable Paradise people are already on the island?
They agreed to escort us to our final destinations on the stipulation that we’d stay put once there. Under penalty of being shot? Yeah, I’ll stay wherever I end up.
There’s a new curfew of 6 pm, and the whole US is under marital law, not just Boston.
I know it won’t do any good, but I keep trying to call someone. Anyone. Nothing. Hope everyone is OK.
This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!
You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!
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04: In Boston
Deplaned about an hour ago. There were armed guards all through Logan International. They didn’t do or say much, but just seeing them around is ominous. They look at everyone like we’re all potentially guilty of something heinous. The Airport TVs are on, here, and tuned to Cartoon Network instead of CNN or MSNBC or even Fox News. Again, I’m not one to put too much into conspiracy theories, but I have to wonder if they’re hiding something from us? And who ‘they’ is.
On the other hand, Scooby Doo is better by far than some of the idiot crap they have on the news networks.
Everyone on the plane including the flight attendants were throwing all kinds of stories around. Dallas and Denver were only two of the places people had flown in from. O’Hare in Chicago, Birmingham, Nashville . . . it was everywhere. Whatever it is, it’s wide-spread.
As soon as I got my luggage at the baggage claim, I high-tailed it to the nearest food court and I’m sitting in a Starbuck’s with free wi-fi. Egad, but it’s slow. Everyone in here is furiously typing away on something.
I’m having a hard time getting to any of my usual sites, though. Google is slower than I’ve ever seen it, and CNN.com is so unstable I think the site crashed. The other news sites are inundated, and besides, they have almost nothing. A lot of stories about those same kinds of incidents, but for some reason, the authorities are being awfully mum. I’m waiting for one of the news agencies to blow the lid off whatever it is. Even Reddit is useless. The ‘zombie’ hypothesis is
Someone just yelled out that the president is having a press conference in a few minutes. Everyone is leaving to find TVs. Later!
This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!
You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!
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03: Stuck on Tarmac
Typing this on phone. Sorry for any tips, but got to hurry before they make it’s turn off electronics.
We’re still on the tarmac. Dude next to me has bern on his phone talking the entire time. Lucky bastard. Almost no one else can get through. Hard him actually mention the Z-word. Zombies. O.o Heh, right. Weirdo.
Lots of people talking about what might be going on, rumors of it being more widespread than just Atlanta. Woman across aisle said she flew in from Dallas and there were same kind of things going on there. Another couple said Denver was the same.
Plane isn’t even half full. Bunch of people didn’t show. All standby people got seats and still so many empty.
But zombies? Really? I’m not the dole voice of skepticism, at least. Sounds like it’s going to be a lively flight.
Of it were zombies, would they ready let flights continue?
Yay! Takeoff. Gotta turn off phone. More later.
This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!
You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!
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02: Does Anyone Know What’s Going On?
Jesus. I’m shaking. Something weird is going on.
There are a bunch of us sitting, huddled in little groups, typing on laptops or iPads or phones, or talking in hushed tones to each other in the waiting area of gate C-10. You know that annoying Airport TV channel they normally have going (at least in the Atlanta airport)? It’s not going. The place is so quiet it’s like the inside of a tomb. It’s just plain eerie. I can hear a baby crying several gates farther up the concourse. Every time they make an announcement over the PA, I jump. Everyone stops what they’re doing and holds their breath. They’re not even aware they’re doing it, if they’re anything like me. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. (Overused cliché; bad writer.) And there are a lot fewer people here than there would normally be. For Hartsfield-Jackson, this is practically deserted.
The wi-fi is spotty, so I don’t even know if this is going to post, but I’ll try anyway. Seems kind of silly, but writing calms my nerves.
I said last night that the drive in should be uneventful what with no one being on the roads this early. What I didn’t count on was that it would take me nearly twice as long to drive in.
There were a bunch of roadblocks. Looked like several exits were blocked off by emergency vehicles. Maybe even the army or national guard. Hard to tell in the dark, and there’s thick fog in patches to boot. So even what little traffic there was was backed up pretty bad at each of those exits. I kept having to lane shift and weave in and out, which I hate when other people do it. Of course on the one day I have to be somewhere by a certain time this would happen. I just want to get to my writers workshop!
My mother would tell me the entire world doesn’t exist for my convenience right about now, and to have patience. But she’s already on her vacation up in rural Arkansas. I’d call, but it’s too early, there.
Tried to call home to let my housemate know what’s up, but I can’t raise her on her cell. Keep getting that ‘circuits are busy’ message. Fuck.
Anyway, what has me shaking:
There was this wreck on I-85 south. Looked like an 18-wheeler hit several sedans. Thing was, there was no one around. The truck and smashed-up cars were there, hazards and lights on, and there were several ambulances with lights flashing, the back doors all hanging open. Well, more like ripped open. Just sitting there off the side of the road. Two police cars, their lights strobing, as well. Also empty. Sitting with doors ripped open. Broken glass was everywhere.
Passing cars were giving them a wide berth, but at about 10 mph, as usual in Atlanta. If you see a flashing light, you have to slow down no matter how fast you’re going — and I’m going off on a tangent. Focus, Gary, focus. I finally creeped past and saw a white sheet on the ground, stuck under one of the wheels of the ambulance and flapping in the breeze. It was hard to tell in the flashing lights while I was trying to pay attention to the road, but . . . it looked like it had a big blood stain on it.
Creepy. Just fucking creepy. I normally listen to podcasts while driving to keep me sane, but I turned them off and tried to find something on the radio. Bunch of confusion, is what it sounded like. The normal music, but some strange news reports. Seems like there’s stuff going on all around Atlanta, but no one would just fucking come out and say what it was. Lots of speculation about terrorists, insurrection, invasion, FEMA . . . I had to quit listening when some of the more outlandish crap started to sound reasonable. This is why I hate talk radio.
And speaking of road blocks, wow. I thought I was going to have to give blood and urine samples just to get into the airport. They kept shining lights in my eyes and asking dumb questions like I’m some sort of criminal.
I tried asking what was going on once I got into the airport, but they weren’t talking either, although all the security people and gate employees were clustered in little groups, talking quietly, and looking worried. I’m guessing they don’t know any more than any of us do.
And there were helicopters darting everywhere. I can’t help but wonder if this is related to what went on in my neighborhood this morning.
I just hope there’s not some awful disease. Maybe those armored vehicles were the CDC.
[Edit: I had to pause because I got interrupted.]
I was talking with some other people in the waiting area. They saw some similar stuff on their way in, and they came in from other directions: both up and down 75, south on 85, and both east and west on 20.
Whatever the hell this is it’s
Boarding! Putting up laptop.
The CDC would shut it all down if it were a disease, right?
I’m glad I’ll be away from all this, but I would kind of like to know what’s going on.
Later!
This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. Stay tuned for more posts!
You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!
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01: Ugh. Of Course.
Went to bed early, as I said in my last post. Woke up about a half hour ago because of sirens in the neighborhood and a helicopter flying fairly low over the subdivision with a damned spotlight brighter than the sun. Feh. Woke my housemate, too. We went out on the front lawn to see what we could find out, but it’s all down the street, and I’m barefoot and in pajamas. Some of the neighbors tried to walk deeper into the subdivision, but cops yelled at them to go back inside.
While I was out there, I thought I heard a gunshot, but . . . it’s hard to tell, really. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard one close up except for one I fired myself, and that was quite noisy. And forty years ago.
I decided I do not need to be wherever there are (potential) gunshots. Cowardly? Incurious? Maybe. But alive and not underfoot, impeding whatever investigation might be going on.
Of course, the neighbors picked the one night I’d like to get a full night’s sleep to decide to go from quiet and unbothersome to . . . whatever this turns out to be. I hope I don’t see it on one of my mother’s favorite “Killers Among Us” type shows on ID. Maybe I could be that guy who always says, “They seemed so nice. Always quiet. Helped me unload a new fridge from my pickup that one time. I never would have dreamed he had buried bodies in his basement.”
Yeah. Or not.
As I was typing this, things seem to have died down a bit, although there seems to be a lot more people milling about than one would expect from a simple murder. Assuming it was simple. And a murder. And how many helicopters does one crime scene need, anyway? There are at least two, possibly more.
Another weird thing: One of the vehicles that drove by looked armored. I wonder what that’s about? I’d go check, but . . . I have more important things to concern myself with. I’m sure someone in the neighborhood will explain it once I’m back from Viable Paradise. Maybe they’ll put it in the neighborhood newsletter.
Dammit. Might as well stay up, now, even though I’ll be a zombie all day with only five and a half hours of sleep. I’m yawning so hard it feels like I’m going to inhale my monitor. Feh. I was going to get up at 5:30. I’ll probably not post again until I’m at the hotel up in Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe I can sleep on the plane, assuming I don’t sit next to a Chatty Kathy or within two rows of a kid.
The shower calls. And apparently breakfast, if the smell of biscuits means anything.
Later.
This post is part of Zombie Apocalypse 2012, a multi-blog fictional account of a zombie uprising. (The previous post was part of the preamble). Stay tuned for more posts!
You may also follow the button link to read other equally fictional Zombie Apocalypse 2012 blog entries by other writers, or join in and tell your own zombie apocalypse stories!
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Impostor Syndrome
Do y’all know what Impostor Syndrome is? In a nutshell, it’s the feeling that, at any minute, something will happen to take something away from you that you thought was too good to be true. The feeling, deep down, that you don’t truly deserve it, and it must be some sort of cruel error.
I keep expecting to get email or a phone call from Viable Paradise saying, “We made a really huge error and contacted you instead of the person with the actual talent, so never mind.”
Yes, it’s silly. But it’s no less true. It’s the same feeling a lot of people get as graduation day approaches. They expect someone to rush on stage during their graduation ceremony and shout, “Wait! S/He didn’t earn that diploma! S/He neglected to take Underwater Tiddlywinks and his/her entire four years of college is now wasted!”
Yes, I fully expected it all through my graduation from the University of Alabama. I was, frankly, stunned when they handed me my diploma and didn’t immediately snatch it back.
In other news, I loathe my brain. This week can’t be done soon enough for me. Once I’m at VP, maybe Imposter Syndrome will go away.
Suggested soundtrack: Carly Simon’s “Anticipation.” The Who’s “Who Are You?”
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Why Aren’t We Past This?
I am taking a needed break from Facebook, right now. I was spending time on there I should have been using for writing. I think I might go back after the election season is over. I’m . . . so very, very done with it.
And I have been writing. I re-visited my “B Is for Bard” story from last NaNoWriMo and came up with an Actual Ending™, toward which I am now writing. I’m trying to end my Fairy Tale Private Eye story. I’m idea-wrangling several other stories, as well as my newly redesignated first novel in the PCIU Case Files series. (It was formerly known as the second novel, but the previous first one needed to be third, so two is now one and three is two.
I’ve also been reading and making progress in a couple of books I’d been neglecting.
And I’ve been listening to podcasts. I have a crap-ton of them on my iPod, including a new-to-me writing-oriented one called The Creative Penn, hosted by Joanna Penn. I mentioned it before (here). Since then, I’ve heard a few more, and it’s definitely a keeper.
This morning, on the way to work, I was listening to Joanna interview James Chartrand, creator of Men With Pens, which made Michael Stelzner’s list of “Top 10 Blogs for Writers” for 2009/2010.
Now, “James Chartrand” is a pseudonym. “James” is actually a woman. He “came out of the closet,” as it were, in December of 2009. After about three years of being successful and presenting a male persona to the Internet.
Go read that blog post that explains why Chartrand chose that pseudonym, then come back here. It’s a very enlightening read.
<hold muzak>
Done? Good.
There are a few things that I just don’t get. Why does it matter whether someone is male or female when it comes to writing? Chartrand said that she would often submit the same ideas as her real name and as James, and they’d be accepted and even praised as James, but not as her real name.
How is this still happening? Seriously, how is this still allowed to happen? Maybe I’m just naïve, but I thought things were better than this. I thought the writing was what mattered, not whether the author has breasts or a penis. No wonder so many female authors use just their initials! (J. F. Penn (Joanna Penn, herself), J. K. Rowling, C. J. Cherryh, V. C. Andrews, P. D. James, A. C. Crispin, A. J. Orde, E. E. Horlak, B. J. Oliphant (the last three are all Sherri S. Tepper), D. C. Fontana, J. D. Robb, K. A. Applegate, C. S. Friedman, S. E. Hinton . . . the list goes ever on.)
But aside from that, one other thing surprises me a lot about this particular “outing.” After Chartrand was revealed to be female, her male fans/clients/readers took it pretty much in stride. But the women . . .
She said in the interview that by far the worst reactions came from women. For instance, this blog post by Amanda Hess. Not to say she’s/they’re not somewhat justified, if what Hess says in her blog is accurate. She does make it sound like Chartrand went too far in her pursuit of coming across as masculine, going as far as to do to other women what had been done to her, and that is inexcusable.
My point is that it shouldn’t matter. Honestly, I find myself looking for male characters in science fiction and fantasy because I can identify with them more, but I don’t let that stop me from enjoying female main characters. In the urban fantasy subgenre, it’s mostly female main characters, and I’m fine with that.
Men writing female main characters or women writing male main characters . . . it’s all part of what we learn to do as writers: Writing the Other. If we didn’t learn to do that, all our characters would be just like ourselves. I would only have middle-aged, upper-middle-class white male characters with no hair, a cat, and a southern accent. Jim Butcher would never be able to carry off Murphy, Molly, Mab, the Leanansidhe, or Susan, all of whom are wonderful characters. J. K. Rowling’s main character was not only male, he was substantially younger than she. But Harry rang true to me, as did Hermione, Ron, Draco, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Molly, Tonks, and the other 300 characters she brought to life.
Just because she has ovaries doesn’t make her unable to write about a male character. And just because Butcher has testicles doesn’t make his female characters any less believable.
It’s what writers do.
The funny part of all this is . . . I have considered using G. D. Henderson as a “pen name” just for that ambiguity. Precisely because the lion’s share of urban fantasy authors are female, and to fit into the genre, it might actually be best (Jim Butcher, Stefan Petrucha, D. B. Jackson (a pseudonym for David B. Coe), James R. Tuck, and Simon R. Greene (among others) notwithstanding) for me to be ambiguously gendered.
And that’s just . . . weird.
I guess there’s a lot more work left to go before people stop injecting prejudice into everything. If you don’t read a book or blog because of the gender — or race, religion, sexual orientation, or anything else — of the author, you’re missing out on some great writing.
- Third base!
- I had a boss back when I worked at a steel mill in Alabama. This particular boss started out having morning meetings where he would talk to all four of his department of computer programmers equally: me, another man, and two women. Then slowly, over a few weeks/months, he scooted his chair more and more into the room until he was sitting in front of the two women, talking only to me and the other man. Rather than calling him on it, we decided to ram it down his throat. “Sue” (not her real name) made a suggestion, one morning (from behind him), and he hated it. Shot it down as no good and unworkable. Later, “Joe” (not his real name, either) suggested exactly the same thing . . . and our boss loved the suggestion. Couldn’t praise it enough. Then Sue called him on it. He turned red, left the room, and didn’t say a word to any of us about it.
- Google that phrase. Seriously.
Note: Edited on 8 December, 2018 because the original image was removed from Flickr. Minor formatting changes were made to conform with later style decisions.
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Like a Bolt Out of the Blue
(Disclaimer: I cannot be held responsible if you now have the song When You Wish Upon a Star stuck in your head. Preferably the Linda Ronstadt version. Well, OK, now I can, having purposefully—dare I say “maliciously”?—brought it to your attention, and gone so far as to prompt you with a voice. You’re welcome. It’s a great song, isn’t it? But I digress.)
Last year around this time, I had already had many, many ideas for NaNoWriMo. I hit upon the idea of writing 26 short stories, which I won’t go into again, here. Suffice it to say, it was a raging success. One of those stories got me into Viable Paradise.
But this year? What with all the preparations for Viable Paradise, I haven’t really had time to stop and think about what to write for NaNoWriMo. I’ve been re-working ideas for my urban fantasy series, but it’s been like beating my head against a wall. I want to do something that will help me with that instead of something entirely new and different.
One of the major problems I’ve had with my urban fantasy is the magic. It’s set in modern-day Atlanta, but magic works. And I am specifically staying away from sexy vampires and werewolves. My main characters are agents in the Paranormal Crimes Investigation Unit of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. They are also mages. Two other characters are normal (non-magical) cops. Another is a TV reporter. And so on.
But how does magic work? I’ve written a ton of words, but I haven’t been able to just nail down that one little point: how does magic work? What are its limits? How can it be used? How prevalent is it? Does the public in general know about it? Etc!
And I need to know these things.
And that’s when I said to myself: "Self, what you need is a magic book for dummies."
KaZOT! (This is the theoretical sound of a bolt out of the blue. Fate steps in and sees you through . . .)
I guess I know what I’m writing for NaNoWriMo, now. A "For Dummies" book-type thing, but all about magic in my universe.
I can literally use it as a reference if I get stuck. Or I can modify if it I need to. :) And having that hard deadline of November 30th by which it must be finished should help me get past this snag I’ve been stuck in for a while.
Of course, I found a way to generate a nifty cover for it. Because, really, why not? On the Internet, if you build it, they will come.
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StoryForge Cards
Earlier this year, I learned about something called StoryForge. The easiest way to think of it is as what it essentially is: tarot cards for writers.
I wanted them badly because I had some problems I thought maybe they would help me work through.
Unfortunately, StoryForge Cards were, at that time, merely a dream in the mind of the creator. He had a KickStarter campaign to raise enough money to do a run of cards. Without hesitation, I pledged $25. At the end of his allotted KickStarter time, if he had enough pledges to make up the entire amount of money he was asking for, I would be billed along with all his other supporters. And a short time after that, I would receive a deck of StoryForge Cards in the mail.
Let me pause here to give you a wee bit of history and a painfully brief explanation of tarot.
Tarot cards have an ancient history dating back hundreds of years. Originally used as any other kind of card deck, for playing games. Later, people started to use it for "mystical" reasons. The structure of the Tarot deck was four suits of Minor Arcana: swords, wands, coins, and cups. Later, it became swords, staves, pentacles, and cups.
Either way, there were 14 of each suit, ranging from the one (ace) to the ten, plus four ‘face’ cards: jack/page, knight, queen, and king. So far, it basically sounds like a normal deck of cards with an extra face card (the knight).
But in addition to these 56 cards there were the Major Arcana, another 22 cards that were added to the deck specifically for their mystical symbolism. They had no suits and names like The Magician, The Empress, Death, The Hanged Man, and The Fool.
It was believed that by shuffling the deck while concentrating on a question, the cards could be flipped face-up in a certain pattern and the cards that occupied each space in the pattern determined your fate. Of course, it was all open to a lot of speculation. All the cards had two "interpretations" – one for when they were dealt upright and one for when they were dealt inverted (upside-down). Generally, people get out of it what they want to get out of it, which to me is the entire point.
I never believed in any of the mystical symbolism or the occult nature of the cards. But they’re a great way to work through what might be bothering you. You lay out the cards in the pattern and as you try to find symbolic meaning in what the Seven of Wands or The Heirophant means when it "crosses you," you can gain insight into what might be bugging you by what your mind seizes on as a likely match. "The Seven of Wands represents being under siege . . . and yesterday at work, Frank told me he thought my plan for the budget for FY 2013 was naïve! How do the cards know!"
So that brings us to the StoryForge Deck. He got his funding and then some. After a few problems with the printer, I finally received my cards a few weeks ago.
It, too, has suits. Five of them. There are 14 each in the four suits of Wealth, Will, Emotion, and Identity, and then 22 more in the suit of Destiny. So in a real sense, you could equate Wealth with Pentacles/Coins, Will with Swords, Emotion with Cups, and Identity with Wands/Staves. (I just randomly assigned the other three. Maybe you could tell.) And that leaves Destiny to fill in the role of the Major Arcana.
Each card contains two concepts, one positive and one negative. If the card is upright, the positive meaning is taken. If it’s inverted, the negative meaning is taken. A short description of each is provided on the card.
As with tarot, there are layouts, such as "Character Background," "Film Noir," "Love Story," and "Train Wreck." Each of them contains a number of cards selected for each element of the layout.
Right out of the box, I decided to give it a try by fleshing out the background of one of my minor characters in a novel I’m working on in an urban fantasy set in Atlanta, but magic works. The character’s name is Yvonne Hanson, and she’s a psychologist who is also a profiler for the FBI. She doesn’t know it, yet, but she’s destined to have a fling with my main character. But all I knew about her was what you see above. I couldn’t get a feel for who she is.
So I sorted the cards until I was satisfied they were randomized both in order and orientation.
For the Mother position, I cast Health. Okay, that’s general enough. For the Father position, I cast The Dilemma. Again, that could go pretty much anywhere. I kept going.
The Strength of Their Relationship: Wealth – Well, that seems like a bad idea, but maybe I’ll be able to fit it in . . .
Problems Between Them: Defeat – Clearly, something goes horribly awry. But what?
Circumstances of Yvonne’s Birth: Marriage – Hmm. It’s a cliché probably as old as time itself, but it does still happen.
So far, nothing was coalescing. But there are a lot more cards to cast.
Complications of Yvonne’s Birth: Aversion – And this is where I got the glimmer. I had imagined Dr. Hanson as a normal character—one who does not possess any magical ability. But if that’s the case, why send her out on assignments to profile criminals using magic? It makes more sense if she is also magical. So . . .
Her dad is one of those people who, for whatever reason, can’t stand people with magic. (Like some can’t stand people of other races or sexual orientations.) And the thought that his own flesh and blood could be one of them . . .
At first they didn’t notice anything. Little Yvonne (named after her paternal grandmother) was a happy, normal child, but at around age 5 or so, she started knowing things she couldn’t possibly know. They took her in for testing, and she came up positive. She’s a psion, fairly weak, but able to sense emotions and strong surface thoughts.
Well, Dad couldn’t handle it. And little Yvonne could sense that he was more than just uncomfortable around her, and she would cry whenever he was around.
So he left. And that ties in to Defeat being the problem between them: he wanted normal children, he got a freak of nature.
The Universe’s Influence on Yvonne: Confession – Well, that plays right in! She’s an empath. Nothing is a secret from such a child, at least on some level. Imagine being asked by your darling 6-year-old girl if Santa is coming on Christmas, and having her feel the lie if you try to hide the truth. So they never hid anything from her.
Early Strengths: The Captive – Now, here we have what to me is one of the strengths of using the deck. We have here a strength or a positive attribute of the character, but what came up was a negative or inverted card. So how can I turn this negative into a positive?1 By forcing me to think along a path I would not otherwise have gone down, I get something surprising.
As a child, she was only ever around people who accepted her difference and loved her unquestioningly. She was sheltered and protected from the negative influences in the world. After her Dad left, that is. She never had to experience hatred and fear while she was untrained and unable to block out other people. She had a private tutor and was home schooled until she was able to erect strong mental wards.
Early Weaknesses: The Counselor – And here’s the flip-side of the coin: a negative attribute indicated by a positive card. Again, not a direction I would have gone had I come up with all this without any prompting.
Because of her ability, she knows people’s traumas intimately. She becomes too emotionally involved in other people’s problems, wanting to fix them from an early age "so the hurt will stop."
Education: The Mentor – Well, I mentioned earlier that she was homeschooled and had a private tutor. But let’s take this a step further. Say when she eventually goes to college—to study psychology, of course—she encounters a psychology professor who is, herself, psionic. She develops a fast friendship with this professor, and becomes her mentee. (Yes, it’s a real word; look it up.) Yvonne’s abilities are fairly weak, but this professor/mentor helps her maximize what she has.
Belief Foundation: The Black Sheep – Well, that couldn’t have been more tailor-made if I’d selected it out of the deck on purpose. Since Yvonne is literally held in suspicion, even by her own father, and actively shunned by people at all levels of society, this is a large "Duh."
Life Experience: Order – Hm. Okay, Yvonne’s neat and orderly in her life because . . . all around her is the chaos of other people’s feelings and problems. The only thing she has any control over is her space, so it’s meticulously clean to the point of OCD. A useful little quirk I can play with from time to time. Nick’s a slob. :)
Recent Shaping Experience: Delusion – Because of some early successes in her career in the FBI, she develops too much confidence in her own abilities. It’s caused her to believe that she’s infallible. And we all know what happens when someone believes in their own self-delusion, don’t we?
Scarring Experience: Infamy – Ruby Ridge. Waco. These are place names that any self-respecting FBI agent would cringe upon hearing. Unfortunately, when Yvonne failed, she failed big and some people died because her profile was way off and her own team bought into her "infallible" delusion. He wasn’t caught when he could have been, and as a result, several more people died. The press, of course, picked this up and absolutely vilified her.
And finally, State of the Character at the Beginning of the Story: The Mirror – Everything above leads inexorably to this point: she’s unsure of herself, now, having discovered that she’s not a superwoman. Her world-view is upended. She’s no longer sure of her own abilities. Top this off with the fact that her mentor has just died, so she has no one to turn to that she trusts. She’s having to examine her own motivations and abilities for the first time in a long while. And along comes Nick . . .
At this point, the first few things don’t matter, but if I need them, I can fill them in. Perhaps the mother was very ill and her father was either a friend who supported her and it turned into romance . . . or he was her doctor that saved her life. Perhaps the dilemma was whether he chooses to stay with his current family? Leaving his practice to move with her? And the wealth could be one or the other of them getting lucrative work or an inheritance that helps to seal the deal. But I’m not married to any of that, and I can leave it open, or just ignore it. Perhaps Yvonne’s mother is still around and will come into the book series at some point. Then I can flesh her out.
Anyway, I just thought it would be interesting to go through a layout from start to finish and see how I made it all work and tie in together. Not all of it was in that order. Some of it happened all at once after I cast the cards and saw a pattern among them.
And now I have a much deeper understanding of who Yvonne Hanson is, what makes her tick, and how she might react to various events within the story. All thanks to 15 cards and some "forced" creativity. (It wasn’t forced; I was merely coaxed to think outside the box.)
And hey, maybe Dad had more kids and she has half-brothers and sisters out there. Or maybe Mom remarried and she has some on that side. The possibilities are open and ready to be solidified if I need them. This entire profile will get expanded upon as I go, and some stuff will probably fall by the wayside, and some other stuff will fill in the cracks.
- I could literally have just flipped the card upside-down and gone with "The Stranded" instead, but that was too easy. :)
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Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream
A few days ago, a friend—actually, two separate friends who don’t know each other—sent me links to two different articles on how the human body reacts when exposed to the vacuum of space without the benefit of a space suit.
I have strange friends. Or, reworded: I have friends who know me, perhaps, all too well.
So I read these two articles and filed them away for future reference in case I might need to know for some future writing project.
Apparently, something about the articles got into my head and stuck there. And swirled around for several days.
Then, last night, my brain supplied me with a truly lovely dream. Really.
I was on a space station with a bunch of people. Some of them are co-workers of mine, some are friends, some are writer-friends, others were “extras”. What gamers would call NPCs.
And this space station—or perhaps it was a space ship a la “Star Gate: Universe”—was traveling along merrily until . . . you guessed it, explosive decompression. Basically a slow leak.
But this is a dream world. So in my dream world, the “slow leak” resulted in me and others being able to stand, sans space suits, in corridors that were open to the vacuum of space as gale-force winds blew past us into the void. Never mind that, were this to actually happen, the air supply on the ship/station would be expelled in toto and those of us standing in the corridor would have soon also been attempting to breathe vacuum.
So I watched as, one by one, my friends, co-workers, and fellow writers were blown (not sucked; the articles were clear on that point) into the vacuum.
And, thanks to those articles, my dreaming brain knew precisely what to show me as each of them died. A puff of frozen breath as the lungs forcibly expelled the last breath, then started to draw oxygen out of the blood. The icing over of the mucus membranes: the nose, eyes, and mouth. Saliva boiling on the tongue. The skin turning blue with bruises. The dawning horror as they realized what was happening to them. The unconsciousness in maybe fifteen to twenty seconds. The seizures. And finally, the stillness as the body slowly releases its heat while the heart still continues to beat deoxygenated blood to the starving brain for a while. All in all, not a very pleasant way to die. But at least it’s over quickly.
Sometimes, it really sucks to have both an imagination and a desire for scientific accuracy in one’s science fiction.
At several points during the dream, I woke up to turn over, and then went right back to the dream. During all this death and decompression, the ship was literally breaking apart. But at one point, me and some friends went to the mess hall (cafeteria) to have a nice, leisurely meal . . . while the air gushed out of the hull breaches.
A very strange dream. Finally, I was able to take control and lucid dream a rescue before everyone died.
And then the alarm went off and NPR regaled me with stories about the recent shooting in Colorado.
Hello, Monday.
In other news, don’t be surprised if this shows up in a story at some point. :)